They tell you how bleak is our northern sky When the storm-spirit spreadeth his wings; How his shout is heard from the mountain high, How in glee thro’ the valley it rings: How his strong hand bows the proud old oak, And in sport uprooteth the pine; How he folds the hills in his spotless cloak, And the groves with his brilliants shine: How his breath enchaineth the rolling tide, And bids the chaf’d torrent be still, Then dashes away in his might and his pride, And laughs that they heeded his will! They tell you our birds at the Autumn’s breath, When the flow’rs droop over their tomb, Are off to the land where they meet no death, And the orange-trees ever more bloom. Tell them we ask not affection so slight That at fortune’s first frown it is o’er, And we’re certain again when our skies become bright They’ll flutter around us once more, And tell them there grows on our mountain crest A plant which no winter can fade— And, as changeless, the love of a northern breast, Blooms ever in sunshine and shade! Come, and we’ll teach you when Summer is fled, And the rich robe of Autumn withdrawn, To welcome old Winter, whose hoary head Is bow’d ’neath his sparkling crown; For soon as his whistle is heard from afar Commanding the winds round his throne, And echoes in distance the roll of his car, We encircle the joyous hearth-stone; And eyes brighter flash, and cheeks deeper glow,— The voice of the song gushes forth, And ceaseless and light is each heart’s happy flow— Oh! come to our home in the North! Wyoming, 1841. * * * * * YOU NEVER KNEW ANNETTE.—BALLAD. Written by T. Haynes Bayly, Esq.—The Music composed by C. M. Sola. Geo. W. Hewitt & Co., No. 184 Chesnut Street, Philadelphia. [Illustration: musical score] You praise each youthful form you see, And love is still your theme; And when you win no praise from me, You say how cold I seem: You know not what it is to pine With [Illustration: musical score continued] ceaseless vain regret; You never felt a love like mine, You never knew Annette, You never felt a love like mine, You never, never knew Annette. For ever changing, still you rove, As I in boyhood roved; But when you tell me this is love, It proves you never loved! To many idols you have knelt, And therefore soon forget; But what I feel you never felt, You never knew Annette. * * * * * SPORTS AND PASTIMES.